


Lionheart

by LaGaucherie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beauxbatons, Cameos, Get Together, Harry Potter - Post-Canon, Just so much quidditch, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Muggle Technology, Quidditch, Rule 63, and bitty loves them, hockey bros being quidditch bros, house elves are bae, ransom and holster are best beaters, shitty also gives great life advice, shitty checks his privilege, wayyy too many cameos, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaGaucherie/pseuds/LaGaucherie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty finds his place in the Wizarding World, and, inadvertently, in Jack Zimmermann's heart. </p><p>Or: Not the Quidditch AU the fandom deserves, but the one it needs, like, right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so I just really needed this. I had so many ideas for this fic, and most of them were terrible, but hopefully a few of them are fun enough to make 13k worth reading. I wanted there to be more romance and less pining in this fic, but mostly, there's just ended up being a LOT of Quidditch. So. There's that. 
> 
> Initial notes:  
> -Set after the trio went to Hogwarts, but before their kids. Victoire and Teddy, being slightly older, are already at Hogwarts.  
> -For logistical reasons, Lardo and Johnson are older than the rest of the gang.  
> -Dex and Nursey are female. Because Quidditch teams are traditionally mixed, and also because I wanted to.  
> -Not sure whether there are reserve players in the HP canon, but a few times players have been out of commission and so I assume yes.  
> -Bitty is from the West Country. After some reflection I decided that's the closest equivalent to Georgia in the UK (i.e. the friendly but conservative South).  
> -Both Alicia and Bob Zimmermann were pro Quidditch players. They met on the pitch. Alicia was playing for Scotland, Bob for Switzerland. ;)  
> -Jack speaks French and English. (Also maybe German because Switzerland is one of those genuinely terrfying European countries where everyone is a polyglot, unlike the UK.) He went to Beauxbatons until third year, where he met Parse, who was French/ American (look, I'm scraping the barrel here).  
> \- Les Matagots de Marseilles are a popular French Quidditch team made up by me.  
> \- the Falmouth Falcons are a CANON British team :D
> 
> Oh god it's half two in the morning, just take this fic already

It has taken Bitty a few years to get used to the fact that the House Elves _genuinely enjoy_ cooking without any help, and that his presence in the kitchens as a chef is something which bemuses and amuses them at best. But then, he supposes that he acts the same way at home. So most of the time, he’s content just to sit and breathe in the smells of cooking and magic, and accept the occasional tartlet or pastry when it’s pressed upon him. Being in a kitchen at all is a nice change of pace, even if he isn’t allowed to make anything himself. 

 

Today, though, is not most of the time. Today, he needs to bake, and _he needs to do it now._

 

‘Winky, hand me a mixing bowl,’ he commands, ‘and if you love me, you’ll give me access to all the pitted cherries I need for at least half a dozen bakewell lattices.’

 

‘Master Bitty,’ she squeaks worriedly, doing as asked. ‘What on earth is wrong?’

 

‘Yeah, I would second that statement,’ Shitty grumbles. Bitty had bodily dragged him up from the breakfast table with a ‘ _talk now, food later_ ’, and although he feels a stab of guilt at interrupting his friend’s well-earned breakfast - a few days before Christmas holidays, no less - he would happily call in every good-friend point he’d ever earned for advice at this particular moment. Besides, Shitty should understand that putting _anything_ before food indicates a crisis in Bitty’s book. 

 

Bitty shakes his head. ‘Let me make pastry. Then I’ll explain, I swear.’ 

 

‘You’d better,’ Shitty plonks himself down next to Winky. ‘If you make me late for first period Charms I swear I will hex you.’ He frowns, then, his eyes flickering from Bitty’s shaking hands to his face, which he can feel is still uncomfortably warm. He sets down the cup of coffee he’d managed to salvage from the breakfast table. ‘Bits. Is there something really wrong? Like, _really_ really?’

 

Bitty’s lifts his floury hands out of the bowl, sitting down heavily at one of the long benches. ‘It’s… complicated,’ he manages, eventually. He realises that a crowd of concerned house elves have all but surrounded him. He’s overcome with a wave of self-consciousness; his eyes prickle, and a handkerchief appears from nowhere, along with a steaming cup of tea. Tiny acts of senseless kindness - and in the end, that was what made him start sobbing. 

 

‘Is it OWLs?’ Shitty presses. ‘Or - Bits, is it something with the _team?’_

 

It’s the team. It’s Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It’s this bloody world and this bloody game and, above all, this bloody captain, driving him to distraction.

 

He had never signed up for any of this, and yet, here he fucking is. 

 

‘It’s to do with Jack.’ 

 

***

 

The letter came the morning after a big skate contest, and all that Bitty really wanted was a lie-in and a doorstop slice of toast with Nutella. But his mum knocked on his door - rapped, really, he could sense the agitation in her movement, they knew each other that well - in a way that cut through his sleep like a knife. 

 

‘If dad wants me to come on the ParkRun, tell him you couldn’t wake me up,’ he grumbled, putting his head under the pillow. ‘I know the Bristol 10k is next weekend, but - ’

 

‘I’m not a messenger between you and your father,’ she retorted, sounding uncharacteristically snappy. Then she opened the door a crack, her tone softening. ‘It’s… Dicky, you have a letter. And, and a visitor.’

 

That had made him sit up in bed. ‘A letter? Like, in the post?’

 

She gave a tremulous sigh. ‘I think that you’d better come and see for yourself.’ 

 

***

 

Once the initial shock and disbelief had faded, he was ecstatic. It explained _everything -_ the way he always had to rein in his jumps, the way that his pie crusts always came out exactly right, the way that he could always outrun the fourteen-year-olds at his dad’s football club. (Although he couldn’t outrun their jeering threats about secondary school. Not until now, at least.) 

 

The elderly woman who had brought the letter introduced herself as Professor Pomona Sprout, ‘I teach Herbology - well, taught. Next year I’m passing on the job next year to a very capable young man, I want to spend more time on my research. Professor Longbottom, you’ll like him’. She’d taken him shopping on Diagon Alley, and kindly answered all his silly questions, and by the time he got to sorting, he was ninety-nine percent sure that he wanted to end up in Hufflepuff. 

 

He was only the third person to be sorted, and as the hat dropped over his eyes, he braced himself for what Professor Sprout had warned him was coming. 

 

‘My, oh my. Proof that good things come in small packages.’ He jumped violently at the sound of the voice in his ear, and beyond the hat, he thought he heard someone mutter, ‘Muggleborns always spook’. His fists clenched at the edges of the stool. 

 

‘You’re a real ray of sunshine, my boy. You’ve got a sharp wit, but you’re not afraid of hard work, are you? You’re a good sport, but you’ll do what you have to to win - although I can’t see you fighting dirty, not really. But there’s a fire in your belly, for sure. Where do _you_ think you should end up? You have a penchant for Hufflepuff, I can see that. But are you sure?’ 

 

_Aren’t you supposed to tell_ me _?_ He thought back. 

 

‘Well, yes, I suppose so. But in borderline cases like I like to take your own opinion into account. It doesn’t do to rush these things.’ 

 

Eric fidgeted and tried not to dither. The hat had croaked out a name within about two seconds for both the girls who’d gone before him. Just his luck. 

 

_Mister Hat,_ he thought - politely, because he was representing the Bittles and Somerset and also apparently Muggleborns right now, and it wouldn’t do to mess that up right away. _I don’t know too much about these Houses and how much they matter. But wherever you put me, I’m sure I can handle it._

 

‘Well, well, It’s nice to hear that perspective on it, once in a while. You _are_ an interesting one, aren’t you? Alright then, have it your way. The night is still young, and the more I think it over, the more obvious it becomes. If you’re really sure you don’t mind, I’m certain that you’re cut out for GRYFFINDOR!!’ It shouted the final word over the hall, and Bitty heard an explosion of cheering. He handed the hat off and headed over to sit down at the Lion-emblazoned table, hoping he’d made the right decision. 

 

‘NICE ONE, brah!’a tall, well-built boy with long brown hair shuffled over to make space for him, then thumped on the back with enough force to make him choke. ‘I’m Knight, by the way. Or Shitty, if you prefer.’

 

The boys opposite rolled their eyes simultaneously. ‘Way to scare the new kid, Shitty. I’m Ransom, this is Holster. Congrats on making it into Gryffindor, Bittle, was it? Defs the best house.’ 

 

‘Well. Maybe not the best, but you’ll learn to love these dorks,’ the short girl next to him put in, grinning and extending a fist-bump. ‘Welcome to Gryffindor, kid.’ 

 

They quietened down as the Sorting continued. A few more people make their way over to other houses, but then a hat-trick of ‘Chow, Chris’, ‘Poindexter, Wilhelmina’ and ‘Zabini-Nurse, Denise’, end up hurrying over to take their seats. 

 

‘Thank god that I ended up in Gryffindor!’ Poindexter burst out immediately. ‘I know I’m a half-blood but I’m still half Weasley on my mum’s side, and - ’

 

‘Wow, chill,’ intoned the girl next to her, said, examining her nails. ‘My _entire family_ on my dad’s side were Slytherins and yet here I am. Sorting isn’t the be-all and end-all, Dex.’ 

 

Chow and Bitty shared a glance, and Bitty was opening his mouth to make an appeasing comment when - 

 

‘Hey,’ someone said quietly, from his other side, someone who’d been quietly watching the sorting with his back to him until now. Bitty looked up to see a tall boy with the most piercingly blue eyes that Bitty had ever seen. ‘Bittle, right? Your Sorting took a while.’ 

 

‘Yeah,’ Bitty managed, after a second. ‘The Hat wasn’t sure whether to put me in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.’ 

 

The boy nodded, and Bitty found himself unable to look away. ‘It took its time for me, too.’ 

 

‘Good to know it’s not just me,’ Bitty laughed, finding himself nervous and rambling, true to form. ‘I’m a Muggleborn, you see, so I wasn’t sure if it was normal or - ’

 

‘The next person’s being sorted!’ Poindexter hissed, and both of them shut up. The blue-eyed boy didn’t talk to Bitty again during the feast, but afterwards Bitty shyly asked Shitty (is he _really_ called that?) what his name was. 

 

Before Shitty could respond, Poindexter jumped in with an answer. ‘Goodness, I know you’re a Muggleborn but _really?_ That was Jack Zimmermann. He transferred over from Beauxbatons - that’s a French wizarding school - last year under mysterious circumstances, not to say suspicious. His mum, was like, part Veela, and _both_ his parents played for world teams - he’s probably the biggest celebrity to come to Hogwarts since Harry Potter - ’

 

Nurse rolled her eyes. ‘Jeez, Dex, _chill._ The guy, probably cooked up a batch of Felix Felicis on the sly or something. Quidditch players do it all the time, hardly counts as cheating.’

 

‘What, he got expelled from his last school?’ Bitty asked, still catching up. ‘But he seemed so _nice-_ ’

 

Chow elbowed him, hard, in the ribs, and Bitty looked up in time to see Jack overtaking them on the stairs. His eyes looked hard as ice.

 

Shitty sighed, sounding tired. ‘Jack’s the best player we’ve got, and he’s only a third year. If he doesn’t get Quidditch Captain when he hits fifth, I’ll swallow a Grindylow. He’s a great player and he always plays clean.’ Then he smiled. ‘Do you even know what Quidditch _is,_ Bitty?’ 

 

Bitty stared down at his shoes, trying to bury the mortification that had coursed through him at the sight of Jack’s face. ‘I… It’s like football, right? But on brooms?’ 

 

Ransom and Holster appeared behind him. ‘Oh, my sweet summer child. You have _no_ idea what’s coming to you.’

 

 

***

 

 

So Bitty had learnt, quickly, that Quidditch was more than just a game - like football in the Muggle world, it was a way of life. There was a team for each house at Hogwarts, and a lot of students went on to play for regional teams when they graduated. A few, like the legendary keeper Oliver Wood, had gone on to play for nationals. 

 

By the time his first Quidditch lesson rolled around, he was ridiculously excited to try it out. 

When the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first years spilled out onto the grass next to the pitch, everyone was chatting nineteen to the dozen. No first year had been selected to play on a house team since Harry Potter, but everyone had been quick to say that it wasn’t _unheard_ of. And Gryffindor tryouts were next week.  
  
‘Now, rookies,’ Madame Chang said, consulting her clipboard. ‘I know that this is a class on your timetable, so please treat it with the seriousness it deserves. You should all be aware that Quidditch is a contact sport, and if you’re not careful, flying can put you in the hospital wing - or worse.’ Bitty winced at the thought. She looked around at them piercingly. ‘Please also be mindful that many of your fellow students will never have been on a broom before. Some of you are already excellent flyers, I’m sure. But not all of you. Everyone has to start somewhere.’

From the moment that Bitty kicked off, he knew that he loved it.

 

***

 

First year, second year, third year - they flew by for Bitty. Figuratively and literally.

 

He, Chowder, Dex and Nursey had stuck together - ended up stuck with each other, Dex and Nursey would probably say.  They sat together in classes, helped each other with homework. Laughed together, hexed each-other for practice, stayed up 'til all hours in the summer scribbling notes for their long-suffering owls to send back and forth.

 

But mostly, what bound Bitty to his friends was Quidditch. 

 

The fact that Dex and Nursey both supported the Holyhead Harpies was probably the only thing that stopped them literally killing one another. Chowder was a huge fan of the Chudley Cannons, and his section of their dorm was covered in orange merch. They went to every match and cheered for Gryffindor as they reached the finals twice and stormed their way to a victory in third year, Jack lifting the cup above the crowds with a rare, genuine smile.

 

There were other new friends, too. Teddy Lupin, the kind Hufflepuff fourth year with hair that could change colour, showed Bitty where the secret door to the kitchen was. From there, it took him all of an hour to win over the castle's House Elves, who appreciated his passion for baked goods. Victoire in Ravenclaw had seemed aloof, but one night when they were working in the library together she'd awkwardly confessed how much she appreciated the fact that he treated her 'like a human being’ - apparently, her parents had been war heroes of some kind, and that, combined with her Veela blood, meant that she was nothing short of a school celebrity. (It wasn’t until the next summer that Bitty started really examining why Victoire’s bright eyes and silvery hair had no effect on him whatsoever.)

But more and more often, Bitty found himself being drawn to talk to Quidditch players, seeking them out above and beyond his classmates and other Gryffindors. 

Ransom and Holster threw the _best_ common room parties. Shitty was so smart that he only had to _glance_ at Bitty’s transfiguration homework and he’d know the answers. Johnson, the keeper, is a bit weird - nice enough, but occasionally Bitty caught him muttering things like ‘damned seven-year school system, slowing down the plot progression’, and staring into the middle distance. Larissa Larissa Duan, the seeker, was probably the coolest person that Bitty had ever met, and the most chilled-out NEWT student to boot. And Jack Zimmermann was… well, Jack. 

Bitty knew that guys like Jack probably got fed up with hero-worship, but sometimes, he just couldn’t help himself. It was like he was the lynchpin that held the whole team together. He was a shoo-in for captain. His grades were close to flawless. When Bitty and his friends came out onto the free pitch to play two-a-side in the evenings, more often than not they’d find Jack already there, practising test shots and laps again and again. 

 

He had no idea whether Jack still remembered hearing Bitty gossiping about him on the stairs. Sadly, he thought Jack might be used to it. Even so, now he tried to ignore the rumour mill surrounding him as much as he could. But there were some things he coudn’t help but pick up. About Bob and Alicia’s legendary meeting, him playing for Switzerland as chaser, her playing for Scotland as keeper, and then proposing to him straight after the match. About his time at Beauxbatons, where they _breathed_ Quidditch during the summer season, where Jack was tipped to join the French national team as soon as he finished his Baccalaureate. About the summer where nobody had heard anything at all. About him turning up at Hogwarts, his mother’s old school, having apparently been sorted over the summer. About the speculation in the sports pages of the _Prophet_ and on the WWW which never quite died down. 

 

Bitty tried to ignore it all, and just treat Jack like any other student in the Gryffindor common room. Tried not to be bothered by the cold, defensive sadness in those ice-blue Veela eyes - eyes which punched him in the stomach in a way that Victoire’s eyes never could. 

 

Whenever they went to Hogsmeade together, their first stop after Honeydukes was always Quercus’ Quidditch Supplies, to drool over brooms. When they left Hogwarts for the holidays, Nursey always invited them over to her place to play on their pitch. Dex always rolled her eyes, but always came anyway. Between games, they would drink chilled butterbeer and eat obscene quantities of chocolate frogs, and always save the Quidditch players’ cards.

 

Slowly, the four of them started to get really damn good. 

 

***  


_Hey Bitty,_

 

_How’s the summer treating ya? I hope you’re not too nervous about fourth year. It’s fine, trust me. Don’t bother with History of Magic, turn in a couple of essays, keep on top of your wand technique and everything else will sort itself out. And enjoy yourself before OWLS, man! Next year’s your last year of real freedom._

 

_Anyway. The main reason I wrote was to let you know thatmy NEWTS were decent and I got the assistant coaching job here at Hogwarts. Madame Chang is thinking of transferring to the Tornadoes, and she wants to train me up to replace her, eventually. So I’ll be hanging around for another few years at least!_

 

_But obviously Gryffindor still needs a Seeker, and although obvs I have to pretend to be impartial as coach, I want to see them put a decent new team together. I’ve been watching you and your pals train over the last couple of years. Promise me that you’ll at least try out, ok? I can’t dictate what Zimms will actually_ do, _but between you and me, he’d be an idiot not to give you a try._

 

_Have a great summer, kid!_

 

_Lardo_

 

***

 

_Dear Eric,_

 

_As you may be aware, I am graduating, and leaving the position of keeper open. Get your friend Chowder to try out for Keeper for comedic relief, and those two girls(who am I to question the author’s capricious decisions regarding gender?)who are always fighting should add a nice side-drama to an otherwise boringly competent team. I guess that one of the Chasers is graduating, too? How convenient._

 

_I know that this may seem sudden, but in all honesty, nobody wanted this to drag on longer than necessary. The limitations of the art form put pressure on us all, occasionally. Have no fear - we’re finally getting on to the main event._

 

_Yours truly,_

_Johnson_

 

‘Another owl from one of your friends, dear?’ his mother asked. 

 

Bitty looked up. ‘I think I might need to burn this.’

  
***

 

‘Dicky. Your mother and I have been thinking.’ 

 

‘Hmm?’ something about his dad’s tone made Bitty look up defensively. ‘What’s up?’ 

 

His dad shifted defensively, and if there was one thing that Bitty _hated_ about this magic thing, it was the way it had changed his relationship with his parents. When he came home, now, it was always with more stories and lessons than he could possibly share with them. When he sat in his room with his spellbooks, he looked out of the window longingly, wanting to be in Hogsmeade rather than Weston-super-Mare. And there was the fact that - well, they seemed _tense,_ sometimes, especially his dad. Like they didn’t quite know what to expect of him anymore. 

 

‘Well, I’ve been discussing it with your mother and we think - that maybe you should give up figure skating.’

 

It was both expected and unexpected, and it came as a punch to his gut. ‘What do you mean? I barely skate now anyway, only when I’m back at home, and - ’

 

‘That’s the problem,’ his dad interrupts, ‘and you’re still good as ever. Putting in all those fancy jumps. Your coach talked to us and she wants you to enter _nationals._ Asking us whether they have a rink at that boarding school of yours.’

 

Shame flooded through Bitty. ‘I don’t _mean_ to use magic when I’m skating. I promise.’ He buried his head in his hands. ‘It just happens. I can’t hold it in.’

 

His dad’s face softened a little, and he patted his shoulder awkwardly. ‘I know, son. But… well, maybe it’s for the best. Figure skating - well, it’s a sport for young kids, teenagers. You couldn’t have made a career out of it, really. And - let’s face it, well, it’s not football.’ 

 

That made Bitty look up. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked, too loud. Suddenly, he was very aware of an elephant in the room. An elephant that bakes pies and listens to Beyoncé and the Weird Sisters, and figure skates, and thinks about Jack Zimmermann’s eyes, and how they’d look if they warmed in a smile. How he’d look smiling at Bitty. 

 

Suddenly, the conversation had nothing to do with magic. 

 

‘I’m thinking of doing Quidditch tryouts when I go back to Hogwarts,’ Bitty said, careful, measured. ‘It’s a wizarding sport. A contact sport.’ 

 

His dad’s face suddenly brightened. ‘Well. That sounds great!’ He purses his lips, considering. ‘It’s probably best if you don’t try out for football, or rugger, anyway. Don’t want you smashing any noses with your mind. I’m sure they’ve got ways of keeping it clean when you’re at that school.’

 

_That school._ Bitty forced a smile. ‘Yeah. Well, patching us up afterwards, at least.’ 

 

Suddenly, he realised exactly what he might be letting himself in for. Not just two-a-side messing about on brooms, catching cheap practice snitches and throwing apples through hoops. But real Quidditch. With crowds. And fouls. And jack. And _bludgers._

 

But he resolved to go along to the tryouts anyway. 

 

***

As he came off the pitch, he tried not to meet Jack’s eyes, though he couldn’t help glancing over furtively. He _knew_ that he’d almost come off his broom when he dodged Ransom’s bludger, and there was no way that Jack would have missed that. But he caught the snitch in less than five minutes, _way_ faster than any of the others, and his form was good - that had to count for something, right? 

 

Jack was rubbing his chin thoughtfully, listening to something Shitty was saying. He looked over at Bitty, and _oh crap,_ started to come over. Bitty fought the urge to bolt, and, shouldered his broom, mustering a smile to send Jack’s way.

 

‘Captain?’ he asked, trying to sound inquisitive but not defensive. Sometimes Jack’s gaze was so scarily intense he felt like he’d been caught eating in the library by Madame Pince. Bitty didn’t think he _meant_ to do it. Intense was just the way he operated.

 

‘That was a decent catch, Bittle, but try and be a bit more mindful of what’s going on around you,’ Jack said when he was close enough, and _wow,_ that was the longest sentence that he’d said to Bitty since Sorting, probably. ‘Quidditch is a four-ball sport, there’s more than just the snitch.’ 

 

Bitty nodded, not trusting himself to speak. _Better to be thought a fool, and all that._

 

‘And Bittle?’ 

 

He swallowed. ‘Yes, Jack?’ 

 

Jack’s mouth quirked up into a real smile. ‘You’re small, even for a seeker. If you want to do well in Quidditch you’re gonna have to eat a bit more protein.’ 

 

Bitty blinked at him a few times, while Shitty shook with silent laughter next to him. ‘I… I think I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,’ he managed, eventually, and then proceeded out of the stands and up to the castle.

 

***

 

‘Bitty!’ Chow came pounding up the stairs into their dormitory. ‘Bitty! You gotta get down here and see - ’

 

‘In the sacred name of Beyoncé Knowles and her accolytes, Chowder, what are you on about?’ Bitty groaned, putting his head under his pillow. ‘This is like my only lie-in of the week - ’

 

‘We’re all on the team! You’re seeker - I’m keeper - and the two girls are - ’

 

Bitty sat up quickly. He got accepted to Hogwarts with his head under a pillow, too - he thought he could see a pattern emerging.‘Are you sure?’ 

 

‘Yeah, come and check the board! It’s down in the common room. Dex got chaser and Nursey is first reserve.’ 

 

‘Do the girls know, yet?’ 

 

Chowder blushed up to his eyebrows. ‘I might have tried to tell them. But then ended up triggering some kind of girls’ dorm defence system.’ He tugged at his Cannons pyjama top collar. ‘their stairwells turned into a slide.’ 

 

Bitty rolled his eyes, amusement slightly lessening the butterflies in his stomach. ‘Only you, Chow. Only you.’ 

 

He yanked back the curtains of his four poster properly and, after a moment of inner turmoil, decided that he was more eager to see the notice board for himself than to get dressed. He and Chowder hurried back downstairs, bare feet slapping against stone - the spiral staircase from the fourth year dorm down to the common room seemed to make him dizzier than usual. As soon as he set foot in the common room, a gaggle of his fellow students descended on him, offering congratulations. 

 

‘Brah, nice one,’ Shitty said, popping up out of nowhere and ruffling his hair. ‘You’ve got just the right build for a seeker, Jack would’ve been an idiot not to pick you.’ 

 

‘Call it off, guys!’ He insisted. ‘I had a good tryout, that’s all - ’

 

‘So you’ve seen the news?’ 

 

Bitty whirled around to see Jack watching the kerfuffle with slight amusement. He was wearing mud-plastered Quidditch gear, and Ransom and Holster were flanking him, looking cold and disgruntled. ‘Extra offence practice,’ Ransom said, by way of explanation. ‘You’ve signed your own death warrant, Bitty. Savour the memory of every lie-in you ever had, 'cause you won't be gettin another one 'til we win the cup.’

 

‘Nice pyjamas, by the way,’ Holster added. Jack rolled his eyes, and Bitty was suddenly, consciously aware that he was standing in front of _Jack Zimmermann_ wearing short shorts, a Sasha Fierce T-shirt and absolutely nothing else. He shivered a little. 

 

‘Style never sleeps,’ he replied, mock-seriously, about two seconds too late. ‘But seriously, I should probably go and put some clothes on. And then I’m definitely asking the house elves to make some celebration pies. Maybe they’ll even let me help this time!’

 

‘Brah, I forgot that you know the house elves,’ Shitty whistled. He punched Jack’s arm. ‘Knew it was a good idea getting this one onside!’ 

 

Jack smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes. ‘I certainly hope so,’ he agreed, and then his eyes met Bitty’s, and suddenly Bitty didn’t feel so great about being on a team. Because Jack’s face said plain as daylight that he had doubts about Bitty. Serious ones.

 

If watching Jack play for three years had taught Bitty anything, it was that when it came to Quidditch, Jack was seldom wrong. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. Part two of three, here we come. This is only lazily proofed, so sorry for all the mistakes!

‘BITTLE!’ Jack roared, ten minutes into practice. ‘Get down here!’ 

 

It was their first full team session of the term, and it was going horribly. The others seemed positively unconcerned by the prospect of being hit by a magic projectile while airborne. Bitty, on the other hand… while he hadn’t _actually_ fallen off the broom when Holster whacked a bludger his way, his heart rate had sped up to about four times its resting rate and his vision had gone all black and roaring and he’d _slipped_ \- 

 

‘Bittle. Ransom and Holster are here to make sure that you don’t get hit by bludgers, but the other team’s job is literally to pelt bludgers at you. That’s. How. You play. Quidditch. And you need to be _prepared_ for that, am I clear?’

 

Lardo was watching impassively, the tapping her quill against her coach’s clipboard the only sign of any tension.

 

‘Yes, Jack,’ he mumbled, staring at his shoes. He’d never felt less like a Gryffindor in his life.

 

‘Good.’ Jack’s eyes were cold with barely concealed contempt. Bitty felt his heart sink a few inches further into his shoes. ‘Back in the air. And Dex, Nursey, _please_ try and focus on passing to each other rather than squabbling about hoop distances.’ 

 

Bitty kicked off, staring at his hands where they held the broom handle white-knuckled. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Chowder watching him with barely concealed concern, and only just mustered a smile. 

 

***

 

Their first match was about to start, and Bitty was certain that he was about to throw up. Sitting on a hard bench in the drafty changing rooms under the stands, he was tempted just to hand his broom off to Jack, apologise and walk out. Walk to the kitchens and cry in the corner and then go back to his dorm and sleep for a hundred years. 

 

‘Hey,’ Shitty said, bumping his shoulder as he walked by. ‘You’ll be fine, you know that, right? You’re a fucking ace seeker. Never seen anyone catch a snitch as fast as you did in the tryouts.’

 

‘I know,’ Bittle said miserably. ‘But it’s not the same as watching from the stands. _Harry Potter_ played this position. And, god, the Ravenclaw beaters are _huge._ ’ 

 

Ransom leant over and bumped his shoulder. ‘We have your back, Bits, don’t worry. Those bastards won’t have a chance to get close.’

 

‘OK, team, _huddle!’_ Jack hollered from the other side of the changing rooms. ‘Now, remember our strategy. Ravenclaw won two hundred points in their last match, so we ought to be at least fifty points up before you catch the snitch, Bittle. Chowder, keep up a fierce defence. Rans, Holster, play offensively, and focus on their chasers.’ He glanced Bitty’s way, and Bitty stared at his boots. ‘I want it to be a nice fast, clean game.’ 

 

‘Don’t we all?’ muttered Ransom. ‘I’ve got a fuckton of Transfiguration homework to get through after this.’ 

 

An uneasy laugh ran around the room, and Jack’s mouth quirked up in a smile. ‘Come on, guys. We’ve trained harder than them. We’re a great team. We deserve to win by a country mile.’ 

 

Bittle nodded with a conviction that he didn’t feel, and then they were flying up, the crowd was going wild. For the first time in weeks, flying filled him with coursing exhilaration. This was like picking up speed on the ice, like launching into a jump that never ended. This was _perfect._

 

They scored the first goal of the match, and Bitty mostly tried to stay out of everyone’s way, taking to the air and circling up above, looking for the snitch. He spotted it once twice, but resisted the temptation to pick up a lead, instead shooting off in the opposite direction, luring the Ravenclaw seeker after him. 

 

They were thirty points up when the first Bludger pelted his way. 

 

He dodged - just - but his heart was in his throat, and when Holster sent it in the opposite direction with a crack like a gunshot, he winced and almost choked. They were thirty points up, and the play was getting ugly. 

 

‘Bittle, watch out!’ Jack hollered, and he realised that the Ravenclaw seeker was streaking after the Snitch. ‘Block her, or - ’

 

A Ravenclaw Beater had zoomed up behind them, raising her bat, expression jubilant. She rocketed past Jack towards a Bludger, angling her body to hit it towards Bitty -

 

Bitty’s eyes met Jack’s and he could _feel_ the panic and the fear written all over his own face, the roaring filling his ears again, and for a moment everything in the world was lost in icy blue -

 

Then he tore his eyes away, gritted his teeth and plunged into a dive. He could hear the bludger whizz past his tail. He ignored it, pushing harder, shouldering in front of the Ravenclaw seeker. The ground was coming up fast, he felt sick, the snitch was _right there and -_

 

He grabbed blindly, and then the struggling Snitch was in his hand. 

 

‘You god damn _did it,_ Bitty!’ Holster yelled, bearing down on him and rolling off his broom into a hug. Within about ten seconds, the whole Gryffindor team was milling around on the pitch, Chowder openly weeping, Nursey running out and Dex dragging her into the group hug. Eventually Jack cleared his throat and reminded them to shake hands with the Ravenclaw team, and then they trudged back to the changing rooms, bone-tired but laughing, dissecting the minutiae of the match. For a moment, Bitty is lost in the euphoria of it. He survived, they won, they _won!_  

 

They won their first match, but not by enough points to put them in the lead, and Bitty knew it was his fault. And he couldn’t help it - despite the hugging, and the yelling, and the party in the common room afterwards - he couldn’t help looking to Jack and thinking, ‘I had _one_ job’. 

 

It was only later when the party is in full swing that Bitty managed to slip away and find him. He was on his own in a corner of the Gryffindor tower, nursing a pumpkin juice and staring out of the mullioned windows. ‘Hey,’ Bitty said quietly, and Jack looked up with a start. Bitty had to resist the temptation to ask him what he’d been thinking about, opting instead to put a scone from the kitchens down in front of him as a peace offering. ’I’m really - I’m sorry about today. I know I shouldn’t’ve caught the snitch when I did.’

 

Jack bit his lip, looking away, and Bitty felt his eyes begin to prickle, cleared his throat and made to move away - but then Jack brought down on his arm and lifted his eyes to meet Bitty’s. 

 

‘Don’t apologise,’ he said, quietly. ‘Until today, I didn’t properly realise - how scared you were. And you still went ahead and won.’ He looked away, and Bitty’s eyes are riveted to his face as he glances down, long black lashes hooding his startling eyes. ‘You remind me of - ’ Then he seemed to stop himself. ‘You’re fast, and you’re smart, and you obviously want to get better. It’s just - Bittle, you can’t keep getting scared. It’s just Bludgers - it’s just Quidditch.’ 

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Bitty blurted. ‘I know that I shouldn’t be like that. But, you know, I didn’t grow up with Quidditch. I’d never flown before first year.’ He felt like he was making excuses, but he needed to make Jack understand this - he was _trying,_ he was, but - ‘it’s just a lot to get used to.’

 

Jack was looking at him consideringly, a hint of consternation in his eyes. ‘Hogwarts can still sometimes feel a bit much, yes?’ 

 

Bitty nodded, not trusting himself to speak, trying to contain the relief that flooded through him. Jack didn’t hate him. Jack _understood._

 

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then - 

 

‘Hey, are you free before breakfast tomorrow?’ Jack said, his face brightening. ‘I have an idea.’ 

 

***

 

‘This -was -a _horrible_ idea,’ Bitty huffed, as the fourteenth bludger pelted towards him. Jack smiled grimly, shouldering his bat. 

 

‘We’re going to do this for as long as it takes, Bittle. Well, until the Slytherins come down for their practice, anyway, those bastards booked the pitch for eight thirty.’

 

‘Thank God for small mercies,’ Bitty muttered, and Jack snorted, pelting a fresh bludger with just a little more of a flourish than strictly necessary. 

 

When they trudged back inside, mud-spattered and cold to the bone, Jack gently bumped Bitty’s shoulder with his own. ‘Hey. You were already getting better.’

 

He smiled down at Bitty, and maybe it was the Veela charm, or maybe it was Quidditch, or maybe it was just _Jack -_ but Bitty felt warmth flood his cheeks and tingle into his numb fingers. He grinned back. 

 

‘Come on, let’s get inside before all the eggs are gone. You’re the one who wanted me to eat more protein!’ 

 

***

 

They fell into the routine more easily than Bitty would ever have believed possible, and they kept it up throughout the season. The two of them rose early, practiced for an hour or two, then joined the rest of the team, ravenous, at breakfast. The others ribbed Jack incessantly about his merciless regime, and loudly expressed their sympathy for Bitty, but there was no real bite to it. A few times, Bitty caught Lardo watching them from the staff table with a big smile on her face. 

 

Then came one particular breakfast - Jack had just nabbed Bitty the last bacon butty like some kind of _mother hen,_ he could feel himself flushing up to his ears while the rest of the team made cooing noises - when Victoire Weasley came by and leaned gently on the table next to him, swatting him on the back of the head with her newspaper to get his attention. 

 

‘What’s up, Vic?’ Bitty asked easily, while Chowder choked on his tea and Ransom and Holster suddenly started an arm-wrestling match. 

 

‘Not much. Seems I barely see you nowadays, Eric. How’s the Quidditch practice going? My friend is still sour that you nabbed the snitch from under her nose three games ago,’ she teased. 

 

‘Oh well. You’re still _just about_ winning the league, so I wouldn’t get too - ’

 

‘Victoire, is that a copy of _Le Monde Magique_?’ Jack interrupted. He was staring at the newspaper on the table next to them like it had just bitten him.

 

‘Yeah…’ her gaze slid down to the headline - _KENT PARSON - NOUVEAU EQUIPE, LES MATAGOTS DE MARSEILLES -_ and then snapped up to meet Jack’s. She plunged into rapid-fire French. ‘Désolée, Jacques, je n’ai paspensé - tu ne devrais jamais te préocuuper avec les affaires de Parse et son- ’

 

‘I ought to go now,’ Jack interrupted, launching himself out of his seat and stalking away. Victoire watched him go, her pretty brow creasing, then slid into his empty seat next to Bitty. The rest of the team stared down at their food, suddenly subdued.

 

‘That was stupid of me,’ she murmured. She spread out the newspaper and the whole table looked down at the table. ‘I didn’t think that he’d notice the headline…’

 

‘Kent Parson?’ Chowder muttered. ‘Isn’t he that American-French wunderkind who’s about to sign with the French national team? Ow!’ Shitty elbowed him in the gut. 

 

Victoire nodded in confirmation, her expression guarded. ‘He’s just left Beauxbatons a year early to sign with one of France’s top squads. All the analysts say that he’s the best seeker the country’s seen in decades, although _papa_ maintains that his brother is better…’ She got a weak laugh around the table for that - even after the passage of almost two decades, Charlie Weasley was remembered fondly by the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

 

Bitty made his decision. ‘I’d better go too,’ he said firmly, getting up from the table and draining the last of his tea. Nobody said anything, but Shitty punched him in the arm in a comradely fashion. Bitty took a deep breath, making his way quickly down towards the kitchens, munching on the bacon roll he’d brought with him. Jack wouldn’t approve of him leaving food on his plate.

 

 

***

 

With some help from his network of tiny spies - honestly, if you were nice about it house elves could tell you _anything -_ Bitty eventually managed to track Jack down to the far corner of the library. He was surrounded by NEWT level history books and his quill was moving at a mile a minute, but there was a tension to his shoulders that wasn’t usually there during their study sessions. 

 

‘I brought you some cookies from the kitchens,’ Bitty said quietly, sliding a brown paper bag across the desk. ‘They’re peanut butter flavoured, so extra protein, right?’

 

Jack looked up with a smile. ‘Don’t let Madame Pince catch you sliding me food in the library. She’ll have your guts for garters.’ 

 

‘Not yours?’ 

 

‘I get down history books from the top shelves for her. She doesn’t hiss when I turn pages too vigorously, so I think that means she likes me.’

 

Jack was obviously trying hard to make him laugh, so Bittle obliged. ‘Can I… Jack, do you want to talk about anything? If not, um. Don’t worry about it. But - ’

 

‘No, it’s okay, Bittle,’ he said, with a soft, sad little smile that made Bitty’s insides feel all melty for no real reason. ‘Victoire just reminded me about some Beauxbatons stuff at breakfast today. It, well, it wasn’t her fault. It’s not anyone’s fault that he’s - well, it’s difficult sometimes.’ 

 

_A seeker wunderkind from the Beauxbatons team._ Bitty wondered how to ask the question - whether he should ask at all. ‘Jack… well, I’m sorry I’m not the best seeker in the world. I can’t be - I’m not as good as - ’

 

‘No!’ Jack said, too quickly. ‘If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘It’s funny how rumours fly sometimes.’ 

 

Bitty nodded, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, Jack.’ 

 

Jack sighed. ‘You’re a completely different player, Bittle. You’re a completely different person. And as a seeker, well, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a privilege to play alongside you.’ 

 

He said it impassively, like it was just a statement of fact, but Bitty felt himself blushing up to the roots of his hair, anyway. ‘Thank you, Jack.’ 

 

Jack shrugged, but he was smiling too. ‘I’m just saying what I think.’ 

 

 

***

In the final of the Quidditch cup, they were on _fire,_ a hundred points up and he’d just spotted the snitch, then - 

 

One of the Hufflepuff beaters desperately pelted a bludger straight into his tail, and the other circled around behind to fire a bludger at point-blank range toward his skull. It was the most vicious attack he’d ever seen, and bile filled his mouth, all the old, crippling fear rushing back. He dodged, but not enough, and fumbling - it still hit, a glancing blow to the head. 

 

‘BITTLE!’ He heard Jack roar, but he shook his head, shot him a thumbs-up. He could still see the glimmer of gold, out of the corner of his eye, and he was determined to chase it. 

 

He could hear the roar of the Gryffindor crowd past the pounding in his head, and it gave him the strength he needed to reach forward, vision swimming, and close his hand around the still-struggling Snitch. Then he tilted his broom into a gentle dive, staggered off onto the green pitch, swayed for a few moments, and fell. 

  
The last thing that he saw before he hit the ground was Jack running towards him, an expression of blind panic on his face. 

 

When he woke up in the hospital wing, his throat hurt and his tongue felt too big for his mouth. His head didn’t _hurt,_ exactly, but his temples felt like they had been stuffed with cotton wool, and everything seemed eerily quiet. For a moment, he just lay there, remembering the match, the fear. The won. It was awful. He missed his mum, and he wanted to go home. He stuffed all those feelings down inside himself and tried to focus on what was outside instead. It must be night-time, he thought, opening his eyes a crack, to squint at the ceiling. There was barely a sound in the usually echoey castle, and the light was warm and dim. 

 

He opened his crusty eyes all the way and lifted his head off the pillow, giving a sharp intake of breath at the sight that greeted him. The whole Gryffindor team, plus Lardo, sitting around or lying on vacant cots, dozing or fast asleep - except for Jack. He was wide awake, hunched forward in a chair next to Bitty’s head, but he looked completely exhausted. Bitty wondered how long he’d been waiting for. He was staring down at his own hands, but a moment later his gaze flickered back to Bitty’s face, and as their eyes met, Bitty cleared his throat and mustered the energy to speak. 

 

‘Miss me, Zimmermann?’ he croaked, and Jack’s face broke into a huge, huge smile. 

 

‘You’re alright,’ he sighed, and leant forward to gather Bitty into a hug.

 

And then, of course, within about ten seconds the entire team was awake and piling in to glomp him, congratulating him on his catch and describing the scrum that had broken out seconds later with them and the Hufflepuff team. But as he looked the other way to give Chowder some deniability about the tears streaming down his face, he caught Jack looking at him again. When their eyes met, he all but beamed, his tired eyes crinkling up at the corners in a way that made Bitty catch his breath. 

 

‘Nice to have you back, Bittle.’ 

 

***

 

 

By the time fifth year rolled around, the Gryffindor Quidditch team was playing as seamlessly as any team Hogwarts had ever seen. Jack hung back for long talks after practice with Madame Chang and Lardo; the whole of Hogwarts was waiting to see where he would be heading once he’d finished his NEWTS. Bitty knew for a fact that there was at least one betting pool open, and in the Ravenclaw common room it was rumoured a Puddlemere United fan had hexed a Chudley Cannons supporter who’d said that if Jack signed with them he’d be a bigger idiot than Oliver Wood. 

 

Shitty, for his part, was buried under mountains of Auror-related bureaucracy. Chowder brought him up food from the Great Hall whenever he looked particularly snowed under, Nursey stood in for him in the occasional practice, and even Lardo reappeared in the common room to give him the occasional pep talk. 

 

‘Just, fuck the Ministry,’ he burst out, on one occasion - it was past midnight and everyone else in the House had gone to bed. ‘Fuck the Auror Office. Fuck DADA grades and above all fuck dark magic. Or maybe we should just let the Death Eaters get control again, might make life easier for me.’ Bitty gave a sharp intake of breath - he might be a muggle-born but had been at Hogwarts for _five years now_ and _knew about_ the Second Wizarding War - and Lardo punched Shitty on the arm, hard. 

 

‘Bro,’ she said. ‘Not cool.’

 

‘I know. I’m really sorry.’

 

Bitty leant over and patted his arm. ‘Don’t worry. But maybe this is a sign that you should just get some sleep.’  
  
***

 

Bitty always packed his skates with him for the winter terms at Hogwarts. He’d learnt in first year that the Lake nearly always froze over before Christmas, and magical or not, the ice is definitely thick enough for him to practice his jumps without any worry.

 

Sometimes, on evenings when OWLS classes were getting too much, he would put his skates on and tear around the lake until he worked up a sweat against the cold. Or in the early mornings he’d head down before breakfast, just like he had for those early bludger practices with Jack, and practice his jumps as he waited for the sun to rise in the duck-egg sky. 

 

It was on one morning like this, when he was practising his axels and wondering whether he could work a triple up to a quadruple with some magic, he lands a particularly smooth jump and heard a sharp intake of breath reach him from across the still ice. He paused, stilled, and turned. 

 

‘Who’s - ’ but as soon as turned, he knew that he’d recognise that figure anywhere. ‘Jack?’ He skated towards him like lightning, happy and suddenly self-conscious at the same time. ‘What are you doing out here, it’s freezing!’ 

 

‘I was heading over to do some laps of the pitch when I saw someone on the lake,’ he replied. Jack looked tired and a little flushed with the cold, but he was smiling, too, his expression admiring, his tone coloured in a way that Bitty couldn’t quite place. ‘I never knew that you could skate.’ 

 

‘Yeah, I uh, I used to compete. Back before I came to Hogwarts, and then in the holidays.’ Bitty shifted his weight to one hip, and Jack’s eyes flickered down and then up again. Bitty flushed. ‘I got pretty good, but my parents were worried that I would, you know, use magic to get better.’ 

 

Jack nodded. ‘Is that a popular sport, in the Muggle world, then?’ 

 

‘Yeah. Not so much in the UK, but in colder countries. Canada, Russia… there’s other sports that people play on skates too, curling and hockey and - ’

 

‘Can you teach me?’ Jack blurted. 

 

Bitty blinked. ‘What, to play hockey?’ 

 

‘No. But to skate, nicely, like that.’ 

 

Bitty could hardly believe what he was hearing. ‘Goodness, Jack, I’d love to! But - that is - ’ _this is the first thing I’ve ever seen you take an interest in apart from Quidditch._

 

Jack smiled, as if reading his mind. ‘It just… well, we’re training, but the cup doesn’t kick into high gear for a while, and - well, it does look fun, you know? A bit - well, a bit like flying.’ 

 

And if that wasn’t the most endearing thing that Bitty’s ever heard him say, he would eat the sorting hat. He could feel himself smiling so widely his face seemed about to split, and he boldly took a step forward, almost into Jack’s space. ‘Deal. But we’re going to have to get you some skates. And if you think what I was doing looked good, well. If I can get signal from the top of the Owlery, I have some YouTube videos I need to show you. Mr Zimmermann, your skate education begins here.’ 

 

_***_

 

Before they knew it, it was the last Hogsmeade visit of the term. The younger players decided Jack and Shitty were working way too hard - ‘it’s _literally not even Christmas yet,_ even Poindexter’s telling you to chill’ - and dragged them down to the town with them. 

 

Halfway through the grounds and ankle-deep in snow, Bitty realised that he’d forgotten his gloves, and promptly looked so miserable that Jack took pity on him and pulled off his own pair. 

 

‘I’m a Scotsman on my mum’s side,’ he smiled, ‘and my dad’s hometown is in the Alps. So don’t worry, I’m used to it.’ 

 

Bitty could feel his face turn red in a way that had nothing to do with cold. ‘Thanks, Jack. Um.’ 

 

‘Look at how _big_ they are on him!’ Nursey crowed, and Bitty glared, giving her the finger.

 

‘Hey, I have an even better idea,’ Lardo chimed in. She’d managed to get the afternoon off, and with her sauntering along next to Bitty, it really felt like old times. ‘It’s cold, I’ve been up since six writing detention slips, Bitty and Chowder look like they’re about to die of exposure. Why don’t we do side-along Apparation? I can definitely manage Nursey and Dex - Shitty, Jack, you’ve both passed your test, right?’ 

 

‘First time,’ Shitty said smugly. ‘I’ll take Chowder. We’ll be out of the grounds any second now, and then we can apparate to the village, no problem.’

 

‘Is that ok by you?’ Jack asked Bitty quietly. ‘Have you ever done it before?’ 

 

And Bitty didn’t know it was possible for his face to _get_ more red, but apparently Christmas miracles _did_ happen, because here he was. ‘Um, no. But - I’ve been told what it feels like, so - ’

 

‘Okay, I think that we’re past the grounds border now. Nursey - Dex - c’mere!’ Lardo hollered, grabbing the pair of them and smooshing her way into their personal space. A few passing Gryffindors sniggered as they spluttered, slowing down to watch the show.

 

‘See you outside Honeydukes!’ Shitty called, honest to god _winked_ at Bitty - oh _Merlin_ , how much did he _know? -_ and vanished with Chowder into thin air. A moment later, everything was quiet: it was just Jack and Bitty, standing in the snow and looking at one another. 

 

‘Well. Shall we?’ Jack smiled, offering his arm. Bitty clung on with a bit more force than necessary. 

 

‘Are you sure you can do this, Jack?’ he asked, his voice sounding far squeakier than he would have liked. ‘I mean, no offence, but - ’

 

‘Bits,’ Jack replied easily. Bitty started - it was the first time he’d used that nickname. ‘I passed my test. You’ve just got to close your eyes and trust me.’ 

 

And so Bitty closed his eyes, gripped Jack’s arm as tightly as he could, and then felt Jack twist towards him, saying, quietly and firmly, ‘Honeydukes sweet shop.’ 

 

It was both more and less horrible than Bitty had been expecting; it felt like being squeezed through a narrow, rubber tube, spinning around and around before being spat out into the bright openness of the outside world again. 

 

He blinked, swaying and gripping onto Jack’s arms for balance. They were standing down a little side-street in Hogsmeade village, Honeydukes just visible around the corner. Bitty took long, deep breaths, focussing on the feeling of the cobbles beneath his feet, the soft woolly lining of Jack’s gloves on his hands, the firm strength of Jack, standing firm as he let Bitty lean slightly against him. 

 

Jack tutted, and Bitty opened his eyes to see him smiling down at him. ‘Sorry, Bittle, we’re a bit off. Closer to the Three Broomsticks.’ The snow was still falling softly around them, a few flakes settling in Jack’s eyebrows. 

 

‘I think I prefer flying,’ Bitty managed after a moment, and Jack actually _chuckled._

 

‘Me too, but what can you do?’ Surrounded by snow, with big, black pupils, his eyes looked almost warm - open and welcoming like a clear sky. Bitty opened his mouth to say something - he wasn’t sure _what,_ exactly - when they heard the sound of Chowder yelling for them, out on the main street. Jack gave a tiny sigh. ‘Guess we’d better go and find the others.’ 

 

He phrased it almost like a question, but Bitty didn’t let himself think about that too hard, taking a step back from Jack and blinking a few times. ‘Um. Yes.’ Bitty shook his head, as if to clear it. ‘Honeydukes, then get you some ice skates, then Three Broomsticks. Sound good to you?’ 

 

‘Perfect,’ Jack smiled. And _damn_ if Bitty’s heart didn’t kick up just a little bit at that smile. He forced himself to turn away, to lead the way across the crunching snow. Just over two more terms, he had to keep himself in check. But if Jack kept on smiling like that at him, he was going to end up doing something really stupid. 

 

***

 

They decide to tramp back to Hogwarts together on foot, tired and happy, just in time for dinner. Jack asked tentatively whether Bitty wanted to go out skating early the next morning - ‘now I have my skates, there’s no point waiting around’ - and it was all Bitty could do not to just drag him out on the ice then and there. Instead he settled for promising to be up bright and early, and then all but dancing up to bed. He threw himself down onto his bed and just lay there for a second, smiling at the canopy of the four poster like the idiot he was. 

 

‘Didja have a good day?’ Chowder asked around his toothbrush. ‘It was really nice of you to go skate shopping with Jack. He should do - like, more fun stuff.’ 

 

When he was feeling tired or petty or mean, Chowder’s constant positivity could grate on Bitty’s nerves. But on days like today, when everything seemed to be going right, it just made him smile wider. ‘Yeah, he should. But it was fun for me too, you know.’ 

 

Chowder grinned and hummed, flopping down on his own bed. ‘I know. But - well, sometimes I think that Jack, well, he _needs_ you to tell him it’s ok to have fun.’ 

 

Bitty glanced at him sharply. ‘You mean, ‘you’ as in, ‘one’? Or ‘me’?’ 

 

Chowder considered. ‘Well, both. But particularly you. You’ve always been good for him like that.’

 

And Bitty couldn’t help but think - if even Chowder could see it, was there a chance that Jack might see it too, someday?

 

***

 

The next morning his eyes slid open at six thirty exactly, and he dressed as quickly and quietly as he could before hurrying down to the common room. Jack was already waiting in his warmest coat, skates in hand, and Bitty’s heart clambered up into his throat at the sight of him. Standing there, warm and beautiful and waiting for _Bitty._

 

‘Ready to go?’ he smiled. 

 

Bitty nodded, smiling ruefully. ‘What have you done to me, Jack Zimmermann? Nobody should be used to waking up this early.’

 

Jack chuckled. ‘And yet, here we are.’ 

 

They headed down to the lake in silence, quiet but for the old-fashioned camera that Jack pulled out to take the occasional photo. ‘You know, I find it so strange that you have _moving film photos_ in the wizarding world, but still can’t seem to wrap your heads around mobiles.’ 

 

Jack shrugged. ‘I guess nobody really sees the need for it. We’ve got owls, and floo powder, and cameras for moments that are really worth recording.’

 

Bitty snapped a photo on his iPhone - normally, he couldn’t get signal _anywhere_ in Hogwarts except for the Owlery on good days, but the camera still worked fine - and showed Jack the shot. ‘It’s nice to be able to see what you’ve taken, though, right?’ He tapped to front camera and pulled Jack in for a selfie, surprised at his own daring. ‘And look at this.’

 

It was a good photo, and Eric didn’t judge his selfies leniently: him smiling, Jack’s eyebrows raised in surprised interest, their cheeks rosy with cold and the frozen castle dark behind them. 

 

‘That’s a good one,’ Jack murmured. ‘So I could really just walk into a muggle store and buy myself a “mobile”?’ Eric could almost hear the air-quotes. 

 

Bitty laughed, brushing off the slight discomfort he always felt at Purebloods’ ignorance of Muggle tech. He knew it wasn’t meant badly, but… ‘Sure, if you get out some galleons in Muggle money. But enough tech talk. Let’s boot up.’ 

 

He pulled on his boots, kneeling in front of Jack to make sure that his were laced firmly into place. ‘You can really damage yourself if they’re not laced right, and that’s the last thing you need just before your last season.’ 

 

Jack’s expression suddenly looked a bit absent. ‘You alright up there?’ Bitty asked, shifting away to check his own skates.

 

Jack shook his head. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, Bittle.’ He stepped towards the ice, a little clumsy in his skates, and Bitty threw out a hand to stop him. 

 

‘Oh no, sir. We are going to have a strict buddy system on the ice, thank you.’ 

 

‘Buddy system?’ Jack asked, his lips twitching. 

 

Bitty glanced down. ‘I just… I mean, I think that I should hold onto you. Until you get the hang of it.’ 

 

Jack held his gaze. ‘Good strategy, Bittle,’ he said simply, then held out a hand. ‘Show me how to skate.’ 

 

They start off doing a slow lap of the lake. The girl in the shop had put a simple balancing charm on his new skates to stop him from toppling entirely, but he was still slow and shuffling on the unfamiliar surface. Bitty chirped him gently every now and again, but didn’t let go of his hand once, putting out a hand to steady him when he stumbled. Jack was a fast learner, though, and before long he was picking up speed. 

 

As the sun cleared the horizon, they did their first proper lap, _step step glide_ all the way around the lake. Then Bitty let go for a few minutes and let Jack skate up and down by himself, applauding enthusiastically when he attempted a wobbly figure of eight. Jack asked him, shyly, if he’d mind showing off a few more of his tricks, and Bitty didn’t need asking twice.

 

After landing a couple of jumps and one sinking spin that left even him a little dizzy, he skated forward again and reached for Jack’s hands. His voice a little breathless, he heard himself ask, ‘I’ll skate backwards now, if you want to follow?’ 

 

He was nervous - he hadn’t thought that through at all - but Jack just nodded quickly, and a moment later Bitty was drawing them forwards over the ice, Jack following and smiling and gripping his hands like he was never going to let go. Bitty ducked under Jack’s arm in a little spin, and he stumbled and cursed and chuckled breathlessly. 

 

‘Getting all fancy, Bitty?’ and he was _never_ going to get used to Jack calling him that. Bitty could feel himself blush.

 

‘I’ll show you _fancy,_ Zimmermann,’ he grinned, and pulled them into a spin, circling across the ice until everything but him and Jack blurred. Jack looked a little bit terrified, but mostly exhilarated. Then an impish look crossed his face and he stopped, suddenly, digging his blades into the ice and yanking Bitty forward to cannon into him. 

 

‘Oof!’ Bitty pressed his hands against Jack’s shoulders to regain his balance. Jack’s hands moved to his waist, steadying him, and he almost skittered backwards in shock before forcing himself to just enjoy the moment. Goodness knew when he’d get another chance to be close to Jack like this. 

 

That was a sobering thought, but he smiled through it, squinting against the sun to look up at Jack. ‘Captain, you’re full of surprises. I didn’t think that you’d be pulling out of that spin any time soon.’ 

 

‘I’ve got to keep you on your toes,’ Jack teased. He still hadn’t moved his hand from Bitty’s waist. For a moment, they just stand there, getting their breath back. And then Jack lifted a hand and gently moved a strand of tangly morning hair off Bitty’s forehead. 

 

Suddenly, everything seemed very quiet and still. Bitty worried his lip with his bottom teeth, saw Jack’s eyes track the movement. The ball was in his court. But he didn’t know what to do about it. 

 

He must have waited just a beat too long. Jack broke the silence, clearing his throat with a sound like a rock skittering across a frozen pond. ‘Bitty, I… Well, I wanted to ask you something. I was wondering. Would you like to… would you like to visit my family over Christmas? In Geneva?’

 

This couldn’t be happening. ‘Wh… what?’ he croaked.

 

‘If you wanted, that is,’ Jack said, all in a rush, not looking at Bitty. ‘Because, you know. We - you - could stay at Hogwarts. But you’ll want to see your family. But maybe you could come for a bit in the new years. We have the space. And my parents have tons of brooms and Quidditch equipment. You could keep your practice up no problem that way.’ 

 

‘Wait,’ Bitty interrupts him. ‘You want me to come and visit you at Christmas and practise Quidditch?’ 

 

Jack nodded, his expression at once nervous and hopeful. ‘I… yes? I mean. I know that you’re Muggleborn. So obviously you wouldn’t have access to a pitch otherwise. And. You know.’ 

 

Bitty wanted, desperately, for that ‘you know’ to mean one thing; but he was almost one hundred percent sure it meant something else entirely. ‘Because this is my last chance to win, and I want to make it a hat-trick. Because you’re the weak link in the team, the Muggleborn who can’t even dodge a bludger, and it’s my duty to train you up. Because I value you as a team-mate, Bittle, but nothing more, and you’re an idiot to think otherwise.’

 

Maybe he was wrong. But maybe not. Either way, he needed to get _out_ of here before he did something really _really_ stupid. 

 

‘I’ll think about it,’ he managed to say, civilly enough, and then he was pushing off, skating backwards, Jack’s hands reaching out after him in a way that _might_ mean what he wanted it to mean so desperately - 

 

Bitty spun on ice, facing away from Jack and the rising sun, facing his abandoned winter boots and the dark castle and the quiet Quidditch pitch, away in the distance. The white hoops rose breathtaking against the blue sky, and suddenly Bitty’s eyes were prickling with tears. 

 

And maybe he was a coward, running away. But Jack wasn’t calling after him. So maybe both of them were cowards, he thought, bitterly, pulling off his skates. Or maybe just him. Stupid, muggle-born Bittle, getting too big for his boots. Thinking that Jack Zimmermann was in his league. Because Jack _might_ like him, but Bitty just didn’t know. He didn’t know whether people were _allowed_ to be gay, in this world, where bloodlines were so important. He didn’t know whether Jack looked at him and saw some star teammate from a previous life. He’d spent five years at this school, working and wondering and struggling to catch up, and yet he was still hopelessly in the dark. 

 

He’d got halfway back to the castle before he let himself turn around.

 

Jack was still standing there on the ice. It didn’t look like he’d moved an inch since Bitty had skated away from him. Normally, Bitty felt tiny in comparison to Jack - dwarfed by his perfect features and icy eyes and huge shoulders - but against the huge winter sky, suddenly Jack was the one who looked small. Vulnerable. 

 

Bitty forced himself to look down at his shoes. Swallowed the lump in his throat. 

 

He needed to go and find Shitty. And then he needed to go and bake something. 

 

***

 

Shitty lets out a long, low whistle. ‘So like. You’ve been crushing on Zimms, like. This whole time?’ 

 

Bitty sighs. ‘Pretty much.’ It actually feels quite good to hear someone say it out loud.

 

One of the house elves tugs at his sleeve and lets him know that his pies are done. ‘Good,’ Shitty groans. ‘If I’ve ever needed a fucking pie, it’s right now. And I don’t even care if the filling burns my mouth.’ 

 

‘Sorry, Shitty,’ Bitty mumbles. ‘I know I kind of word vomited on you there.’

 

Shitty spreads his hands. ‘No, don’t worry, kid. It’s just a - lot to take in. And, like. I need to think what to say.’ 

 

He munches on his pie in reflective silence for a few minutes. When he eventually speaks, it’s with an unusually tentative measuredness. 

 

‘Look. Since he got here in third year, Zimms has been - well, definitely one of my best friends. Maybe my best friend. But he’s always been so hard to deal with. He doesn’t come out of his shell unless you push, and push, and sometimes you don’t want to push too hard and ruin it all, you know?’ 

 

Bitty nods. ‘He went through a lot of shit back in Beauxbatons. With Parson, and his parents, and the newspapers watching his every move. And I know that when he first got here, he was in the hospital wing a _lot._ His body was fine, but - well, sometimes in the night he’d wake up screaming. Sometimes, he’d just shut down.

 

‘But he’s got so much better. And since you joined the team, he’s - well, Bits, you must’ve seen it. He’s fucking _bloomed._ He talks so much more, he jokes. Any blind person could see how much he loves to be around you.’ 

 

Bitty hardly dares to breathe. _I’m an idiot,_ he thinks, and then, _but I am so afraid._

 

As if reading his mind, Shitty holds up a hand. ‘Just because he likes you, though - that doesn’t make it okay, the way that he acts sometimes. He and I, we’re Purebloods, and there’s a lot that we’ll never understand because of that. But that doesn’t mean - that we’re not trying. And if you can be patient with him - well, I don’t know, but I think that the two of you could really have something. 

‘It’s because he cares a lot, and he’s not used to it, I think. He wants to do the right thing by you, but sometimes it comes across, as, well, tough love, y’know? It’s just - Quidditch is the only way he really knows. Apart from maybe fucking History of Magic,’ Shitty adds, and suddenly the tension is broken, both of them laughing. 

 

‘Wow,’ Bitty says. ‘I should - Shitty, oh god, I just left him out there on the ice. What if he’s like, given up and died of exposure out there or something?’

 

Shitty rolls his eyes. ‘Don’t be so fucking melodramatic, Bits,’ he says. ‘I’ll just text Lardo and ask her whether she’s seen him at the Quidditch pitch. He always used to go there to angst when we were in third year, and if he’s gonna regressively sulk anywhere, it’d be there.’ 

 

Bitty looks at him admiringly. ‘How are you getting through to her, though? Do you have signal in the castle?!’

 

‘Simple anti-scrambler augmentation charm,’ Shitty grins, and Bitty _knew_ that he hung out with these NEWT students for a bloody good reason. ‘With that, you can contact mobiles in the castle without too much trouble. Might be a bit trickier to connect them with the outside world. It was actually Johnson who came up with the idea. Something about it being intrinsic to the dénouement, you know what that guy was like.’ 

 

Bitty shrugs, and nods, then Shitty’s phone chirps.

 

‘She says that she found him up in the Gryffindor stands about ten minutes ago,’ he confirms. ‘He hasn’t said anything, but apparently he looks ‘a bit pale’. She wants to know, ‘who do I need to kill’?’ 

 

‘Nobody,’ Bitty says quickly. ‘I’m gonna go over there now.’ As he gets to his feet, he suddenly feels nervous. Not the wave of fear that washes over him when a bludger comes his way - just bubbles of it, popping like butterbeer in his stomach. ‘Shitty. Do you think I should just - come clean, then? Tell him how I feel about… about everything?’ 

 

Shitty raises a tray threateningly above his head. ‘Brah, if you do anything else, I will literally throw all these pies at you. And that would be a crying shame. So for Merlin’s sake, go get your man.’ 

 

Bitty laughs, slightly hysterical, and he’s about to set off up the steps when there’s a gentle tug on his sleeve. ‘If you please, master Bittle,’ Winky says, smiling. ‘I could whizz you over to the pitches with a snap of my fingers. Elf magic is powerful stuff.’ 

 

He smiles, considers, then nods. ‘Yeah. I’m ready to go.’ He thinks for a moment. 'The rest of these pies are yours, Shitty. For listening to me rant... and helping me to make sense of it all.'

 

Shitty smiles affectionately. ‘Thanks, Bits. But you don't need to give me pie for being a decent friend - not that it isn't a nice bonus, of course,’ he adds hurriedly, as the house-elves start to move in eagerly.

 

Then Winky snaps her fingers, the kitchens swim out of view, and he’s standing outside the Quidditch stands. He’s about to go in, when Lardo strides out. He opens his mouth to speak, but she shakes her head - gives him a tight, fierce, hug - and then hurries back in the direction of the castle. It’s bolstering, but it brings home the knowledge that there’s nobody there but him and Jack. In the end, this comes down to the two of them. 

 

He squares his shoulders, and walks out onto the pitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the classic Zany Fanfiction Misunderstanding, I just let my angsty trashy shipper heart run away with me :'')  
> Ahhh I'm trying not to let this universe run away with me but now I just have, like, so many questions. Like -  
> -does Lardo want to be a coach forever? Or play for a team eventually? Or make art? Magic art?  
> -how is Johnson coping with metaphysical knowledge of two universes?  
> -does Victoire have a crush on Teddy already? Is he super oblivious?  
> -do Victoire and Jack ever have 'I'm so beautiful bllaarrrghhh' angst sessions together?  
> -does Alicia Zimmermann have an amazing Scottish accent? (answer: YES)  
> -does Jack have a weird cute RP/French/Scottish accent? (answer: YESSSSSSSS)  
> -does Harry come and watch a game and congratulate Bitty? Does Ron strike up a friendship with Chowder?  
> -does Jack, like. Actually ask questions in history of magic class. And Mr Binns + everyone is just like 'bitch u did not'?  
> -real talk: what is the wizarding world's outlook on homosexuality? like, I know bloodlines are a huge deal and arranged marriages happened in pureblood families, but. Racism and sexism seem much more blunted (although JK has always kinda glossed over those aspects of the wizarding world), kind of eclipsed by Blood prejudice I guess. 
> 
> As always, questions, comments, kudii are always received with love and high-frequency sound!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go.

Jack has always liked the slightly desolate feeling of an empty Quidditch pitch. He likes sitting up in the stands and imagining the crowds pouring out, all of them discussing the match, celebrating or commiserating, happy and euphoric and emblazoned with colour. He likes looking at the empty food wrappers and the discarded banners. He likes looking at the structure of the pitch, the familiar hoops and the big empty spaces, and imagining strategies that could fill them. It’s soothing. 

Today, though, the empty spaces all feel full of Bitty. Bitty learning to dive a few degrees from the vertical. Bitty’s fingers closing around the snitch, his face lit up with a triumphant beam. Pulling Bitty into a hug, victory fizzing through them both; leather-gloved hands, delicate fingers skimming down the back of his head to grab onto the collar of his cloak. 

Lardo disappears without saying anything, punching his shoulder on her way out. But she doesn’t ask him to leave with her, and he’s grateful for that. He knows that there’s very little that his teammates wouldn’t say or do to comfort him, make him happier. All too often he feels that he doesn’t deserve that fierce affection and acceptance. When he first came here, after all, all he wanted was to get out as soon as possible. Or, failing that, maybe, to die. 

 

God, he had hated it. His mother swore by Hogwarts, of course, but after the disaster of Beauxbatons, his father had been reluctant to put him back into public education at all. Time had passed, Jack had sworn that he could deal with it, and so, with many anxious glances and too-tight hugs, they'd dropped him off a few days early. He'd been sorted privately and started his year with as little fanfare as possible. The hat had taken its time, but in the end, it had settled for Gryffindor over Slytherin. Jack had tried not to read too much into that. 

He’d missed the beautiful rococo Beauxbatons buildings, and the smell of fine whiskey in the winged horses’ feed, and being with Kent all the time - he’d missed those things so much he could hardly breathe. And he’d been lonely, surrounded by all those kids who were too reserved to ask him any questions, but not reserved enough to stop gossiping about him. 

Now it’s his final year, and he realises that he has taken root here.

 

***

‘The professors at Beauxbatons recommended that we monitor you closely during potions and herbology,’ Professor Longbottom said. It was the summer term of fourth year, and they were sitting in the greenhouse - Longbottom often held his meetings there rather than in his office. The Professor was still new and slightly nervous, but he was kind and accomplished in a way that Jack could respect. Longbottom wasn’t officially head of Gryffindor house, not yet, but it was only a matter of time, everyone said so. 'Longbottom' and 'Potter', 'Weasley' and 'Lupin'; these were the names of heroes and ghosts. 

Jack wondered whether Professor Longbottom ever got sick of his name. 

‘Do you enjoy herbology class?’ he probed, gently, and Jack thought about it. 

‘I like the greenhouses,’ he said, at last. ‘They make me feel calm.’ They were bigger and more organised than Beauxbatons’ jungle-esque Grande Serre. The light was green and the air was warm, the wrought-iron fittings were painted a bright white. It made him think of summer. Every plant more-or-less had its place, although a venomous tenctacular was trying to inch its way towards the food tray on Longbottom’s desk right now. It was natural, and messy, but manageable.

‘In that case,’ the professor said, smiling, ‘I want you to come in here whenever you want. You’ve been here a year with no incident. You’re not a child anymore. But you should start feeling welcome, Zimmermann. I want you to make Hogwarts yours.’ 

Jack had nodded silently, brushed it off and got on with his Quidditch. But sometimes, he’d taken his homework into the greenhouses, when the common room got too loud. Occasionally he’d invite his teammates to come with him, or spot Longbottom wrestling with a plant across the room, but usually, it was just him and the greenery. 

He remembers how happy Bitty had looked the first time he’d asked him along to study in the greenhouses. Like he was being handed the key to some secret garden, or a cave of wonders. Although he knows it comes with a cost of its own, he loves to see Bitty’s delight, every time the world of magic throws him something new. It makes Jack see things differently, too. 

***

He never really understood how his parents could just have seen each other, on the pitch, and known. He didn’t understand and didn’t understand and then, like learning a new language, it happened overnight, and he knew too. He felt himself grit his teeth when Bitty took a hit, like he’d taken it himself. He found himself returning Bitty’s smiles in a way that twisted his face into welcome, unfamiliar genuine shapes.

Madame Pomfrey, old, now, had tentatively offered him a sleeping draught, that night when Bitty had been knocked out in the cup final. But he’d taken one glance at the figure in the starched hospital bed - a mop of lustreless hair, and a frame so very small - and shaken his head. Staying awake until the small hours of the morning had been worth seeing him wake up. Easily. He wants to watch Bitty wake up again and again. He wants to eat breakfast with him and ask him whether he thinks the Falmouth Falcons or Puddlemere United have the edge. He wants to hold him tight even when they’re not hugging it out at the end of a match.

Jack sighs, burying his head in his hands. He’d thought his feelings were obvious to anyone with eyes. He knows that Bitty liked guys; Victoire had told him as much. When they were on the ice together, they’d been close and so light that Jack had almost been drunk on it. But of course, when he tried to explain that to Bitty, he’d said it all wrong.

There’s someone walking on the pitch now, and Jack raises his head, getting ready to apologise, to let them practice, to let this space do its job. The person stops, looks up, and Jack catches a glimpse of gold, snitch-like. 

His heart clenches. Of course Bitty came and found him here. But… to tell him what?

He starts walking again, but this time, with purpose. There was a fresh fall of snow on the pitch this morning, and he’s cutting through the pristine white with every step, a black line against the white. 

Bitty curves upwards on the pitch, and the footprints curve with him. Jack has to bite back an incredulous, giddy laugh, because this is the clearest, sweetest declaration of intent that he has ever seen. 

As he starts to rush down the steps, Bitty’s finishing the ‘v’ at the top of the heart, and starting to curve back down towards him. 

The creaky oak steps are loud under his feet, and he breathes in the slightly musty smell of magic and wood and crowds, before he bursts out onto the white of the pitch. Suddenly, he’s close enough to see Eric smile, and then they’re both running. Black and white and pale gold. 

Jack is a natural Chaser, but he doesn’t imagine that catching the Snitch could feel better than this. 

They’re both winded slightly by the impact, and then Jack lifts Bitty a little, burying his face in his hair and spinning him around. Bitty laughs, and reaches up, and just like that, they’re kissing, and if it was so easy, why didn’t they do this long ago?

‘I’m sorry,’ Jack gasps, when they break apart, breathless. ‘I messed up your snow art. Should’ve taken a picture.’ 

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Bitty smiles. ‘The only reason I did it was so that you’d come down here and plant one on me.’ 

‘Did Lardo tell you I was here?’ Jack asks. Bitty nods, and his face falls slightly. 

‘Yeah. I talked to Shitty.’ He bites his lip. ‘I’m an idiot.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Jack says automatically, and then adds, ‘why?’ 

‘I thought it was, well, all in my head,’ he mumbles, ducking his head in a way that should be awkward but just looks adorable to Jack. ‘And that you just wanted to practise Quidditch over New Years.’ 

Jack blinks, processes. ‘Oh. Um. I can kinda see why you might have thought that.’ He suddenly feels bashful. ‘I was just trying to, you know, hedge my bets, I guess?’ 

Bitty goggles. ‘Jack Zimmermann, why in Merlin’s name would you ever think that you needed to hedge your bets when it came to me?’ 

‘I just…’ he knows it’s meant as a rhteorical question, but he can’t help but answer. ‘You’re… everyone likes you, Bitty, you know?’ He’s cringing at his own words, his own feelings, but he makes himself press on, regardless. He needs to make sure Bitty knows this. ‘You’ve come so far, and you’ve learnt so much, and - well, sometimes it feels like the rest of us are just trying to catch up.’ 

He thinks he might have gone too far, because Bitty’s just watching him talk with something approaching wonder. ‘It’s funny,’ he whispers, after a moment, ‘because I could so easily have said the same about you.’ 

This time, it’s Jack who bends down and draws him into a kiss, sweet and slow where the last one was giddy and breathless. He runs his hands through Bitty’s hair and cups his neck, then moves a hand to his hip and draws him closer, and Bitty sighs into the kiss, tilting his head backwards. Jack runs his tongue along Bitty’s lower lip, and bites just a little, and Bitty’s breath hitches, and he stands on tiptoe to push his body even closer - 

‘So will you come to visit me?’ Jack gasps, breaking the kiss for air, and Bitty giggles, his cheek hot against Jack’s hand. 

‘I swear, Jack, sometimes you have a one-track mind.’ 

‘That’s not true,’ Jack protests. He lets a beat go by, then smirks. ‘I sometimes think about Quidditch, too.’ 

Bitty buries his head in Jack’s shoulder and they laugh together, and then he walks backwards, pulling Jack along with him. 

‘Yes, Jack, I’ll come. And I’ll probably embarrass myself hugely in front of your awesome parents, and wince at checks, and try to cook the muggle way. But if you can put up with that, I’m all yours.’ He glances up at Jack through his fair eyelashes, smiling, but a little shy. 

Jack wraps an arm around Bitty’s waist, and they fall into pace together. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more,’ he says honestly.  
A Quidditch pitch is a large expanse of space. It takes them a while to walk all the way across. Jack knows that by the time they get to the castle, they’ll both be starving, and Bitty will have to rush to his first class. But then they’ll meet for lunch, and hold hands at the Gryffindor table, maybe, and their team will tease them, but mostly they’ll just be happy. 

Jack tilts his head back to look at the blue sky, focusses on the feeling of Bitty’s thumb rubbing circles against his palm. Glances to the side, meets his eyes, and smiles again, wider than he would ever have thought possible a few years ago.

And although he’s on foot, with not a broom in sight, crossing this pitch on foot makes him feel lighter than air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHH and they walk into the sunset and everything is great :'D  
> Comments? Criticisms? Ideas for more magicky drabblets to add onto the end? Lob me a comment!


	4. Appendix I: Mr Bittle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The good thing about your child turning out to be a wizard, Eric Bittle Sr. thinks, is that after that, nothing can really surprise you anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to have Bitty's dad think of himself as Mr Bittle a) because in the UK, 'coach' isn't really a title of address, even in the most footbally or rugby-y areas I've come across; and b) as a reference to Mr Dursley, who's third-person-POV narrated chapter of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone remains strangely compelling to me. In some ways, Mr Dursley, like Mr Bittle, is just an ordinary bloke caught up in something a bit too big and weird for him. But I headcanon that Mr Bittle would deal with it quite differently.

The good thing about your child turning out to be a wizard, Mr Bittle thinks, is that after that, nothing can really surprise you anymore. 

 

Mr Bittle is a man of habit, see. He likes things to be in their right place: breakfast at seven fifteen every morning, his team turning up to practice with clean kit and boots, a pint of bitter at his local on a Saturday evening, outside if it’s fine, propping up the bar if not. Early to bed, early to rise, everything in moderation. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d married Suzanne he was sure that his world would have moved like clockwork ’til the day he retired. And then, he’d still’ve liked his armchair placed just so by the heater, and his tea with the crossword at eight pm sharp, thanks very much. Pixie-sharp, she was, Suzanne, and not without a hint of madness about the eyes sometimes. She had a heart of gold, but a mischievous streak too - she liked to push him out of what she called his ‘comfort zone’ (it’s called that for a reason, don’t you know, love, because it’s  _comfortable, it's shipshape)_. So really, all of his problems started with her. Ain’t that a surprise. Eve ate the apple after all, didn’t she? 

 

Junior - Eric - he’d been born awf’ly small, but healthy, and stubbornly stayed that way. Now, Mr Bittle wasn’t a giant, and Suzanne had to stand up straight to touch five-foot, so Mr Bittle could understand that. It was predictable, see. But then - everything that happened afterward? That was moving the goalposts, Eric. No interest in kicking a football, just playing catch, racing around and around the garden until he was like to trip on a root and break his neck. The day they went to the ice rink, where his eyes had widened and widened some more. After that he wasn't happy unless he were decked out in a pair of skates and a sequinned leotard. And then, at home, Eric always holed up in the kitchen with his mother, making sweets that'd put Nigella to shame - even Suzanne saying she didn’t know how he did it, at his age, the dough just seemed to knead  _itself_ under his hands. 

 

And forgive Mr Bittle for not seeing the signs, not listening wide-eyed when she said their son was something else, but Suzanne had always been like that. Intense and a bit, well, a bit prone to embroidering a tale in the telling. And Eric himself no better. Both knew how to draw an audience, they did. 

 

He'd never say so out loud - Suzanne'd laugh at him, or cry, or maybe both - but sometimes Mr Bittle’d felt a bit… well. Like he was on borrowed time with her. You know? Thought that her teasing’d get mean, and she’d run off. He should trust her, of course, people don’t just get married at the drop of a hat do they. But, well, he’d sort of hoped Eric’d be a bit of a bolster, a bit of a grounding influence, if you will, but instead he just seemed to. Well. Mother and son, their eyes glowed the same way, and they talked and talked and talked, and although Mr Bittle loved them both fiercely, it was a bit like holding on to two kites sometimes. Being tugged this way and that, watching them and jus’ hoping you’re not about to lose your grip.  

 

He’d ignored the owl when it first tapped on the window. He’d been drinking his morning coffee and stewing a little since Eric was going to snooze through 5k Parkrun _again_  - of course, fancy skating was all very well, but Mr Evans from football would be bringing his kid Robbie to run with them, and that’d show up the whole Bittle family - but then Suzanne had given a cry of shock and he’d looked up quick as being burnt. 

 

‘What’s up, love?’ And then he saw it. Glaring at him with big tawny eyes, it gave him a bit of a turn, too. ‘Must be injured. Owl out at this time of day?!’ 

 

‘There’s something on its leg, maybe it got tangled up - ’ Suzanne had strode across and opened the window, and then the bloody great bird had hopped in, cool as you please, obviously not hurt at all. With two letters attached to its legs, and well. That had been that. 

 

He still remembers.  _Mr E.Bittle,_ and then,  _the parents of Mr E. Bittle._ It was the first time that he hadn’t been  _the_ E. Bittle.

 

***

 

So having your world turned upside down by means of your child, it makes it fairly hard to shock you, see. Mr Bittle thinks now, he could read in the newspaper that the moon was made out of Double Gloucester cheese, and it would hardly rattle him. His consolation through it all is that Suzanne seemed almost as flabbergasted as he did, and in their quiet term-time house, the two of them found they had more time to talk to each other - almost no choice, really. Suddenly, it was him and Suzanne in the face of a whole new world, and both of them struggling to understand their son's place in it.

 

It hit Suzanne harder, he thinks, because she and Eric had been so inseparable in those first ten years. ‘Doctor forget to cut the cord, eh?’ one of Mr Bittle’s mates had remarked, at a football barbecue one year. Not the most sensitive of blokes, but he had a point. She felt that she should've seen it coming. She was surprised at being surprised. Mr Bittle was not. He knew very well that he'd never really made the effort to get to know  who his son actually was. Just thought a lot about what he wasn't. 

 

 Having been taken by surprise once, both of them watched Eric carefully from then on. As carefully as they could, a world away. Watched his letters for signs of unhappiness. After he started Quidditch (a game which, once Mr Bittle had got wind of the rules, heartily regretted ever permitting his son to play - there was rough sport, and then there was  _rough sport twenty feet in the air,_ but by then the contrary little chap had the bug, didn’t he?), they watched him for injuries, made him send them an owl straight after each game. And when he came home for the long summer holidays, they watched him for everything else they'd had to miss; watched, and listened, and played catch-up as best they could. And Eric watched them watching, more warily than Mr Bittle would have liked. 

 

Every couple has their own language, don’t they? A language of pauses, chance remarks that aren’t really chance at all. So Mr Bittle knows that Suzanne has been noticing it too. Putting together signs. The lack of a girlfriend. The skating. The baking. The short shorts. The posters he doesn’t take down when he leaves for school - Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Matt Fishel. 

 

‘Eric’s a real mixed bag, isn’t he,’ Suzanne had said to him, in bed, one night. ‘He’s got so gutsy, with the Quidditch, which gives even you the heebie-jeebies - but then…’ 

 

She’d trailed off, as if to say, and then,  _everything else._

 

‘Eric’s always kept us guessing, though, hasn’t he?’ Mr Bittle had replied. ‘Best not to overthink it, I say.’

 

Suzanne had chewed her lip, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘He’s here so little, though. Thinking’s all we have.’ And then, quieter, ‘I don’t want to miss anything.’ 

 

Mr Bittle had sighed, fluttering his moustache. ‘Don’t worry about it, love. He’s just growing up.’ But  _how_ is he growing up? Mr Bittle can’t reassure himself that he knows. Sometimes, he wonders whether he wants to know. Maybe in another life, where the world wasn't already upside down, they’d have ignored it. For as long as they could, anyway. Now they're like cops at a crime scene, picking up the scraps he leaves behind for them. 

***

And then in Eric's fourth year gone, things come to a bit of a head.

He arrives home for Christmas practically walking on air, and asking if he can go on holiday to Geneva with a  _friend,_ and he’s clearly bubbling over with the need to gloat and talk someone’s ear off. The two of them go on a walk along the docks in Bristol, and he keeps starting and cutting off, glancing at them with fear and choking down his words like he’s trying to recork a champagne bottle. 

 

Now, Mr Bittle doesn't flatter himself, but it would take someone even thicker than he is to realise that this is a watershed. He may not understand lots of things about his son, but he knows how it is to have a love that seems too big for you - that won’t sit still or flipping do what it’s told. He looks at Eric and wonders, when did Junior get so old? Wonders whether Eric's thinking the same thing. 

 

Then Mr Bittle pushes away the last of his discomfort, and asks, with genuine interest, ‘so tell me more about this Jack fellow. He’s the captain of your team, in’ne? Sounds like a decent bloke.’ 

 

Eric, cautiously, starts to talk, and suddenly it's the other way around. He's surprised about being unsurprised. Maybe he knew his son better than he thought.  

 

***

 

Eric tells them by owl, in the end. It comes in February (the imperious tap at the frosty window hardly startles him, now). And although neither of them are shocked - Mr Bittle's amazed he held out a whole month after Christmas, to be honest - they’re a little sad that they couldn’t hug him, and tell him that they still love him, in person. Mr Bittle wishes that they could find the right words to explain. To tell him that it’s not that it doesn’t  _matter_ \- it'd be a lie to say that he hadn't ever wished for a blokish five-eleven son, a son who'd play footie and come down the pub - but in the end, Eric, Eric the wizard, Eric with a  _boyfriend -_ he matters more. 

 

‘Of course he can have Jack over here,’ Suzanne says, once she’s finished her little crying jag. She tries to crack a smile. ‘I want to find out what kind of teenage soap opera we’ve been missing out on all those years he was at boarding school.’

 

‘I feel like I already know the lad a sight too well,’ Mr Bittle grumbles, but it’s mostly good-natured. ‘Junior would hardly shut up about him at Christmas.’

 

Suzanne swats him with her oven glove - because, of course, the minute the owl had arrived, stress-baking had happened. ‘You watch it! This could be your future son-in-law we’re talking about.’ 

 

‘Christ almighty, don’t go thinking so far ahead!’ 

 

‘I’m a gossipy mother, let me have my fun.’

 

And then, it’s Easter, and Jack’s standing in their doorway, looking equal parts politely terrified and insatiably curious. Eric had warned them Jack might be like this - apparently muggle life boggles their lot as much as magic boggles him. It's still a little  hilarious to see him staring at the doorbell like it might leap up and bite.

 

 Intellectually, Mr Bittle really can’t fault his son’s taste - he’s kind of proud, actually, which he hadn’t expected at  _all._  Going by first impressions, Jack Zimmermann is the whole package: tall, clearlytakes his sport seriously, killer blue eyes, and pretty well-off, if the bottle of wine he’d handed them at the door is anything to go by. 

 

He seems to have picked up Eric’s propensity for rambling. ‘My parents live in Switzerland, but they have lots of friends in France, and they swear this is good Muggle wine, er, I mean, non-magic - ’

 

Mr Bittle holds up a hand. ‘Please. I’ve lived with a Hogwarts student long enough to know what a muggle is.’ He smiles to show Jack he means well, then beckons them through the door. ‘Now come on. I know that Suzanne has been slapping my hands away from the hot-cross buns all morning so that you young people could have first dibs.’ 

 

Jack laughs, which sounds like it might be a little bit of a rare sound, and Eric gives his dad this  _look,_ almost insultingly surprised, but heart-warmingly pleased, too. And a little bit proud. Mr Bittle can’t help but feel a bit vindicated. He knows that expression all too well. He’s felt that way about Eric nearly all his life.

 

‘Missed you, dad,’ he mumbles, reaching up for a quick, awkward hug as he drops his backpack in the hall. But it’s a tight hug, and sincere.

 

‘Missed you too, Junior,’ he says, simply, clapping his son on the shoulder. And then Bitty's off down the hall, and Jack is gravitating towards him, asking him what a microwave is with touching seriousness. 

 

After the two boys have headed upstairs to ‘show Jack his room’, Suzanne scoots a little closer to him. ‘What do you think?’ she whispers, conspiratorially. Her hair’s tucked behind her ear, slightly spiky because she’s been running her hands through it in distraction as she chopped and kneaded and baked the morning away in anticipation of Jack and Eric’s arrival. Her smile is tentative but bright. Her brown eyes look dark and luminous. 

 

Dancing eyes, changeling eyes, his dad’s dad would probably have said. Eric has those eyes too. 

 

Mr Bittle thinks about it. Thinks about all of it. 

 

‘I think,’ he says, carefully, sincerely, ‘that Eric could have gone a lot further and done a lot worse.’ 

 

Suzanne smiles, and Mr Bittle thinks, well. When it comes to it, so could he. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this isn't the bonus AU material that some of you wanted, and that I originally planned on writing, but the recent update, combined with my capricious writing impulse, took me in this direction - and here we are. Spoilers ahoy... We got a glimmer of Mr Bittle apologism/redemption and Bittle family resolution in the most recent update, and I really wanted to reflect that in this universe, too. Bitty's parents, especially his dad, have a tendency to get cardboard-cutouted by fanfiction authors, and I can never resist an underdog, so obviously I had to write about them. ;) Also I am a fan of the Bittles and the Zimmermanns just quietly waving their Zimbits flags when those two idiots finally get their act together. 
> 
> As always, comments make my heart happy so do let me know what you thought!


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